Ridiculous
by My-name-is-foxglove
Summary: Life's a stupid, crazy ride but, occasionally, there are some moments worth saving. A series of SE drabbles- SoMa hints. Moment 3: Dreams are lost in the haze of an heiress's morning routine, combing honey brown hair and brushing shark-like teeth.
1. Children

**Ridiculous**

Author's Note: Decided to make a series of SE vignettes and drabbles as I re-read the manga. SoMa hints come with my territory, so either squeal with it or deal with it, peoples.

* * *

They are both out of breath, drained and barely clinging on to the edge of consciousness- and even if Stein didn't have his Soul Perception he would have been able to pick out the one trait that the two seemingly ill-suited partners shared more than anything: _courage_.

After all, only certain types of hard-willed, brave people keep themselves purposely awake when they knew they were going to die.

The scientist feels a small smirk creep up his lips at the information he's realized and, as he reaches an approving hand out, considers giving them some extra credit.

"_I won't let you touch my tech!_" The weapon, Soul Eater if he remembered his name correctly, instantly reaches out to shield Maka Albarn, the technician. His feet weren't even completely back yet, he was just as weak as his partner, but here he was, risking his life and glaring at him with tired resolution all the while.

For a moment, as Stein stares down at the two students of Shibusen, he feels something _hit_ him.

* * *

These Shibusen students, these heroic murderers of the future, these living weapons and technicians they all trained beyond the limit every single day...

...were _children_.

Honest to God _children._

And what was happening in front of him **wasn't** a weapon doing his duty, ready and willing to risk his life for his technician.

It was a boy, a kid who still cared about things being cool or not, who was tired beyond belief, thinking he was about to die and only caring about shielding a tiny, wounded girl with a hella lot of power and pigtails in her honey blonde hair.

It wasn't duty or training or honour.

It wasn't even _close_.

* * *

(It was only a moment.

But even when moments come and go, some stay with you for a hell of a long time.)

* * *

Stein smiled at the children, reaching out a hand to ruffle the boy's hair and finding something almost resembling a grin on his face, "I'll give you a pass point."

_And definitely some extra credit._


	2. Jealousy

**Ridiculous**

Author's Note: Decided to make a series of SE vignettes and drabbles as I re-read the manga. SoMa hints come with my territory, so either squeal with it or deal with it, peoples.

* * *

It's not like Soul _likes_ seeing Maka get huffy and frustrated with her blank eyes and bland remarks as she glares at all his partner requests- he takes no pleasure or joy from it like other guys would (how could he, after all, when an upset Maka means a heavy tome to the head if he even _breathed_ wrong for several hours?).

But Soul can't really say there isn't some...well, a very, _very_ small sense of satisfaction dwelling somewhere in the recesses of his twisted soul, whenever Maka gets jealous.

* * *

_She mutters darkly about the waste of paper as yet another heart covered letter hits the bin, but he doesn't miss the way her shoulders relax just that little, important bit._

* * *

It's not like he's _comforted_ per say, when he sees her keeping a weary eye on squealing girls, or notices a somewhat posessive air in the way she twirls him like a baton in their next battle.

It just helps him feel a little more...secure.

A little more appreciated.

A little more important.

To Maka, that is.

* * *

_On some days, she gives him this _look_ when they're going out the door that says, plain as the laughing sun above, 'don't leave'._

_And he feels just that little pang of guilt at the small, tiny spring of- of some twisted, mutated version of happiness because _she doesn't want him to leave_._

_He flashes her a smile, hiding guilty pleasure carefully behind crimson eyes, and it says, as plain and honest as the bright grinning moon that appears every night, 'of course not'._

* * *

It was a well-known secret only to Soul himself that he had some issues with confidence; living in the shadow of a violinist prodigy did that to a guy, and it was even worse when said violinist was your big brother and all but doted on you with affection, making you feel sick and stupid for all your dark **_envy_**.

But it was worse with Maka. It was bordering on _crazy_ with Maka.

All he needed was to notice Kid sitting near her side of the room or hear Black*Star sharing a joke with her from the past or, _God help him_, remember how much less time he'd had to hang out with her when she was showing poor Chrona around on her first days at Shibusen and **_There. It. Went_**.

_Crack_.

A little of his confidence, a little of his security that came with being Maka's partner broke off.

Just a chip, but it still ached and chafed at him.

(Hell, if he was being honest, it was **torture**.)

* * *

_He's not used to opening up to others like she is, so maybe that's why he finds friendship so much more dangerous than she does._

_Maybe that's why his grin falls a little flat when a small part of him wonders just how high he ranks in her eyes; just which friend of theirs could one day potentially take his place in her heart? _

_Maybe that's why he doesn't like seeing her worry over him, but would feel that crumbly confidence of his break to pieces if she ever didn't._

_Maybe._

* * *

He doesn't _like_ seeing her as troubled as he becomes when there was a threat to the bond beyond their partnership- that wasn't a lie.

But it was a reassurance, of a kind.

_She cares._

_She worries._

_You rank high in her eyes._

* * *

But **_how high?_**

* * *

Not knowing still chafes at him, deep in the darkest corners of his twisted soul.


	3. Memory 1

**Ridiculous**

Author's Note: Decided to make a series of SE vignettes and drabbles as I re-read the manga. SoMa hints come with my territory, so either squeal with it or deal with it, peoples.

Reviews are love~~!

* * *

_They're rushing through streets crowded with hundreds and hundreds of people, more than she could ever count, shouting and yelling and pushing and shoving. The sky is dark and red and many buildings are already gone; the dark green shield protecting their city shakes and wavers below the frowning sun and the battle is nowhere near over. A woman holds her hand tightly, tighter than she's ever had it held before, and pulls her along, this way and that, but always forwards, always away from something approaching from behind- her jade green eyes are focused on the train station like their lives depend on it._

_She's so scared._

_She says something- can't even whimper, she's so out of breath, still running, running, running away from the-_

_"It's alright." The woman's voice is firm and determined, not even shaking as she glances down at her, "It's alright." Her face moves up again, and her gaze is the look of a hawk guarding her young and searching the horizon for enemies. Their pace picks up just a little more as the trains come into sight._

_"We'll **make** it be alright." The woman promises, and she believes her, but-_

_"Yo! Maka!" There's a man with white hair, grinning a sharp and carefree grin despite the chaos around them and she feels just a little better, just a little._

_"Idiot, you just couldn't stay put, could you?" The woman scolds in return, but she's smiling and even though people are still running and rushing around them the two people come together with just as much hurried urgency, a desperate embrace and quick brushing of lips._

_The man __picks her up now, and he holds her small frame so close to his chest it's like he's trying to pull her into his heart and keep here there, safe and sound. She remembers loving his hugs, but there is something about this that makes her feel that this person, strong and dependable, is going away and that scares her. She doesn't want to be left alone._

_"You'll be alright," he promises, deep voice gruff and hoarse and gentle, and she tightens her small arms around his neck, opens her mouth to say something, anything; the woman comes next to him, her motherly arms tightening around them in such a way that the terror of losing both these important people makes her tiny throat close up, any possible words locked away. The woman kisses her cheek and breaths in her scent and she thinks she feels something wet._

_"We love you," they say, tighten the embrace and then it's over, snapped away and they tell her to hold the hand of someone with white hair, just like the man who'd hugged her, but not, he's not the man and she wants that man and that woman, she wants them to hold her close again-_

_"You'll be fine." the woman says, kneeling down and whispering as if it hurts to breath, "Just stay with your uncle for a while, okay? Okay, sweetheart?"_

_No, she wants to say, _**_no_**_, but then the woman hugs her, keeps her close and kisses her cheek one last time before standing, and the woman has been pushed aside for the warrior, she can see it in the set of her shoulders and the way her long honey brown hair doesn't look homely but deadly and-_

_The man reaches out one pianist hand and ruffles her hair, "Be good while we're gone," he says, ruby eyes almost looking pained for an instant before he pulls away, the glisten from his sharp teeth turning into the glimmer of sharp scythe and steel._

_"Look after her," they say, and the woman grabs hold of the man- the _scythe_ with a motion that's been practiced tens of thousands of times._

_Dozens of important, meaningless words rush through her head: stay, weapon, wings, technician, **battlefield**- _

_"No!"_

_Her wail for them to come back is all too late._

* * *

She woke up, eyes wide and breathing heavy, reaching out to empty air, "_Don't_-!"

"Are you quite alright, Miss Evans?"

Royal purple curtains were opened with a single _swish_ and ruthless sunlight flooded into the room, stinging her eyes. She moved a hand to shield her crimson orbs as tears of pain welled up within them, and for a moment, she thought she was crying for-

**(Don't be a baby, kid.)**

"Miss Evans?" The maid in front of her was grey eyed and brown haired, just like every other maid in the mansion. The worry in her tone was undoubtedly fake and the polite smile on her face was failing to hide the hoard of annoyance and contempt beneath.

_What a way to wake up._

Cara Evans, sole remaining heir to the Evans estate, proudly tilted up her chin and forced herself to take the pain of the sun's rays, forced herself to arrange her face into the icy impassiveness that was her only shield against the world _(_**lonely, aren't you, under that shield of ice? You're still just a little girl with no parents to chase away her nightmares**_)._

"I'm fine." She said and reached back with one of her slim, pianist hands to brush aside a lock of her long, loose honey brown hair. "Why are you in my room at this hour?"

**(That's it. Be haughty. Be proud, be cold. They'll push you down with every chance they get.)**

The maid nodded instead of bowing, "Your grandmother requests your presence in the drawing room."

**(You need to _push them down _back.)**

Cara didn't even twitch, "Fine. You've delivered your message. Now get out."

The woman didn't need telling twice and by the time her bedroom door was closed and locked, Cara let out a sigh and fell back onto her bed with a flop, her features easy and relaxed.

"What does the old woman want with me?" She muttered, her sharp teeth glistening in the early sunlight. Absentmindedly, the girl fingered her shark-like canines and molars, an intensely protective feeling rising in her chest.

_They better not try to make me go to the dentist again._

She liked her teeth just as they were. Sharp. Different. Her. She didn't understand why her Grandma was so adamant on her looking 'normal'.

**(Because you're _his _daughter, idiot- they're trying to crush every bit of him in you.)**

Cara pushed the matter aside for the moment and threw a hand to cover her red, red eyes, struggling to grasp at the fading remnants of her latest dream. But try as she did, she couldn't summon so much as an image or a flicker back from the depth of her memory. She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, the empty feeling in her chest increasing as she stared at her blank white ceiling.

**(But you better not let them. You're _her_ daughter too, after all. Why don't you get over this petty mental sulk of yours, huh?)**

"Ah well." She got up, her movements as fluid as scythes flying in the sky and sweat soaked silk green pyjamas rustled and fell to the floor, "No use getting depressed over it."

**(Their _blood_ runs through your veins, Kara Eater. _Wake up_ already.)**

"Oh yeah..." On goes a black skirt and white shirt, that headband she's had since she was eight years old, "I get to see Uncle Wes today too. Lucky."

**(_I'm getting_ **_**bored**_**.)**


End file.
